Tintin Drabbles: Only Him
by Xx Ryo xX
Summary: A collection of Drabbles/Vignettes revealing small insights to Tintin's life and character. They're relatively short at the start from 1-7, but they do get progressively longer. Thank you for reading these! Feedback and reviews are greatly appreciated!
1. The World

**A/N:** This is my first Tintin Fanfiction, so any constructive criticism and comments would be greatly appreciated! I grew up with Tintin, so to finally get around to writing a fanfic about 8 years later, I hope it goes well. Reviews will be read and cherished forever, so you're welcome to please leave your thoughts.

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

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><p>xXx<p>

**The World:**

Tintin had always seen the world as a vastly fascinating place, which soon became the main reason behind his travels.

Becoming a reporter was just convenience, something that would pay him for doing what he loved best.

He was quite intelligent despite his young age, and his bright ideals were often reflected in the way he interacted with others, making him a very pleasant person to talk with and be around.

His closest friend, Snowy, followed him loyally to every corner of the earth he would visit.

He couldn't have asked for more. In the beginning, this had been enough.

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><p><strong>AN: **Tell me what you think~


	2. Lonely

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

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><p>xXx<p>

**Lonely**

Out of the many places that Tintin went to he seldom found enough reason to stay there for longer than a few weeks.

His love for travelling and adventure kept him going, but sometimes he would find himself feeling a little lonely.

He knew he was able to look after himself, and Snowy had been there with him every step of the way, but on rare occasions when times grew difficult he'd often wish quietly to himself for someone else to be there with him.

After this realization, he began to value his friendships more and try to keep them.

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><p><strong>AN:** Again, if you have the time, please tell me what you think of this~


	3. Perfect Timing

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:** I wrote them in a platonic relationship, but how you interpret it is up to you xD 

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><p>xXx<p>

**Perfect timing**

It must have been by coincidence that Tintin and The Captain had met, a brilliant stroke of luck that had wound their paths together.

When the two found each other they had both been at very low points, but with one other from that point onward they had supported each other out of the troubles they had fallen into.

"Imagine if I hadn't met you that night, Captain. Where would we be now?"

"Who can say. I doubt I would be here, though."

"We would have met another way, I'm sure of it."

"Aye. You know... we probably would have."

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><p><strong>AN:** I don't (intentionally) Tintin/Haddock slash because I don't think my childhood would live it, haha. But I love their friendship.


	4. Words

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N: **I wanted to write Snowy into one of the Drabbles xD

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><p>xXx<p>

**Words**

Tintin couldn't quite place how and where he had come to being so knowledgeable with foreign languages.

While he wasn't exactly fluent in them, he was able to communicate and this helped him get around.

"When did you learn that?" the Captain would often ask this when they travelled aboard, and Tintin would just smile politely and give a small shrug.

"I've always known a few words, but I'm hardly able to strike up a meaningful conversation."

Snowy was never impressed by his owners ability with languages and always felt _he_ should be admired for being able to communicate _wordlessly_.

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><p><strong>AN: **These Drabbles is only 100 words long, which is why they're so short. I might change that later on, but for now I'm trying to write within a 100 word limit.


	5. Capture

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:**Is it just me, or does it seem like Tintin get's tied up a lot? I wonder how many times he's been handcuffed. GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER, YOU.

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><p>xXx<br>**Capture:**

Tintin gradually lost count of how many times he found his hands bound behind his back or a cloth with chloroform over his nose.

He couldn't understand why he was so prone to being captured, but he supposed it didn't matter because he would always find ways to escape.

Sometimes he'd have help from Snowy, or from people he had met previously who were on his side, but sometimes he would have to use his own wit to break free.

He wasn't sure if he should be proud of his experiences with escaping or concerned.

"Concerned," said the Captain, bluntly.

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><p><strong>AN: **Thank you for reading! I appreciate it!

Reviews, constructive criticism or even ideas for future drabbles (credits will go to you, of course) are more than welcome! I would like to hear what you have to say.


	6. Alcohol

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N**: This drabble is sort of just here to stall time for me while I work on expanding my other ones. Brownie points to you if you get which Tintin comic I've referenced in this, even if it is bleedingly obvious.

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><p>xXx<p>

**Alcohol:**

Tintin rarely drank alcohol whenever it was available; he left that to the Captain, who was happy to take his share. Most people assumed it was because of his young age, but in reality he just didn't like the taste.

The only one time he could remember being drunk was back when he and the Captain had been in the middle of a gunfight somewhere near a Moroccan port.

They'd been cornered in a small wine cellar and had resorted to using the bottles as temporary weapons, much to the Captains poorly concealed dismay. Things became hazy after that and when Tintin finally cleared his head, he found himself brushing pieces of plaster off his shoulders and staring back at the Thomsons with an unconscious man lying beside a bookcase.

How that had happened, he really couldn't figure it out, so in the end he just tried not to think about it.

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><p><strong>AN: **Thank you for reading! Reviews are always helpful, flames are always laughed at and treasured, constructive criticism is always constructive, and obvious statements are always obvious. I know, still very short and probably not all that original, but hey. I will be attempting to lengthen future dabbles, but we'll see how my procrastination goes.

Thank you to all of you who reviewed!  
><strong>Tia Paes: <strong>I'm going to try as you suggested for future drabbles, but I can't guarantee I'll get it right the first time xD But I do understand what you mean, and I'll try to focus on adding more.  
><strong>herring <strong>& **VicPin: **Thank you for your suggestions! I'll definitely try to write something on Tintin's past, once I come up with what to make it. It might take a while, I want to put enough thought into it so it'll be good.  
><strong>Azvee<strong>: Bromance FTW. All the way.


	7. Company

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N: **First attempt at writing a longer Drabble. I was a little reluctant to put this up here because the concept of Tintin + Female is often a little... well, not canon anywhere, so interpretations may be different. But nevertheless, here we go.

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><p>xXx<br>**Company:**

It was on the rare occasions when they weren't on the trail of a mystery that Haddock began to wonder whether Tintin could be doing more with his life. He didn't mean more as in moving around and expanding his horizons, because they did enough of that as it was and he had the passports to prove it.

He just sometimes found himself concerned with what Tintin did for himself. He knew the boy absolutely loved his work and that his love for adventure would never change, it was just when they were sitting quietly doing absolutely nothing productive that he felt his young friend should make the most of it.  
>This is what had brought him to suddenly bring up the question he'd been meaning to ask for a while.<p>

Not one for subtly and beating around the bush, the Captain cleared his throat, folded his newspaper, and spoke over to his young friend loudly, breaking the silence.

"So, when are you going to find a girl, lad?"

There was a slightly awkward pause as Tintin lowered his book to his lap and looked over from the couch, a politely bewildered smile forming on his face.  
>"Do I really need to find one right now?" came Tintin's placid reply after a moment.<p>

"Well, you haven't found a case worth reporting or investigating any time recently," the Captain pointed out, frowning and waving a hand impatiently. "I don't see why you don't spend your time doing other things."

"That's true. But who can say a case won't come up as soon as tomorrow?"

"That doesn't matter. Do you just plan on sitting around at Marlinspike for the whole time?"

"I'm… enjoying it," Tintin replied, hesitating briefly as he thought about it. "It's nice to sit back for once."

The Captain gave him a blank stare. Sit back? _Sit back?  
><em>That boy didn't know the meaning of sitting back and relaxing. If he had, they wouldn't have travelled across the world several times. His back ached just thinking about it, and he still couldn't figure why he tagged along almost every time.

"Nonsense."

Tintin sighed a little in slight exasperation and shook his head.  
>"I'm not looking for anyone at the moment anyway; I'm quite content just being here. But I appreciate your concern."<p>

Stubborn little-  
>"Fine, if you say so. But don't be surprised when no cases turn up and you're bored," the Captain said finally, turning back to his newspaper. He'd find another way to convince him later, but for now he'd leave it.<p>

Tintin laughed quietly and returned to his book with a smile. "No, I won't," he assured him.

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><p><strong>AN:** Tell me what you think of this! Reviews are incredibly helpful. As in, they actually break through my wall of procrastination, which is quite an achievement! Constructive criticism also helps.

Thanks for taking the time to read this!


	8. Fame

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N: **I thought I was never going to get this done. I can't recall whether Tintin had a typewriter in the comics, but he did in the film so here we go. That's where I got it from. For this one, I used the movie-verse, but really these Drabbles could apply to either. I tend to think of the movie-verse Tintin in the comic-verse to write them.

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><p>xXx<p>

**Fame**

If there was anything Tintin took pride in, it was the one thing where everything he said and did eventually came to a conclusion: his typewriter.  
>The way he saw it, everything came back down to this one, single valuable possession. This is what bound his travels and adventures to paper in the end, every experience he wanted to share or keep.<p>

It gave them a form that was unchanging; the words he typed wouldn't slowly fade away like how normal memories would. It preserved the moments he'd lived through and held every feeling he had felt, but only for him.

To others, his reports would merely be a simple recount of something that had happened, somewhere; to someone they didn't really care or know about. But to Tintin, the words he spent endless nights placing onto paper were parts of his life that, once all together, would show where he'd been, and was something he could be proud of.

Gradually over time as he published more articles, Tintin's name became well known amongst the public and he soon became a well respected and admired reporter, much to his bemusement. At first, the young reporter hadn't noticed his slowly growing popularity and it only caught his attention after he'd been randomly stopped in the street one day by someone who asked him, with great enthusiasm, as to whether the stories he wrote were actually true.  
>"They– what? Oh, yes, they are," Tintin had replied, feeling taken back and failing to conceal his surprise at the abrupt confrontation. "Yes, everything I write is true."<p>

The man had then seized his hand and shook it vigorously, all the while explaining how much he loved reading his articles and that he would keep an eye out for them every time he'd buy the paper. Tintin had simply stood there utterly stunned by this, and tried his best to keep up with what the man was saying. He found it pleasantly bizarre that someone would take the time to stop him just to talk about his work.

"It's something I enjoy doing for others, so it's hardly something you should be thanking me for!" Tintin had managed to say once the man had taken a second to take a breath. "But I appreciate it, all the same."  
>The man had then patted him heavily on the back, spoken a few more words of goodbye, and continued onwards, the conversation ending as quickly as it had begun.<p>

That night, when Tintin returned back to his small apartment, his head was still reeling from the events of earlier that day. On his way to bed he paused outside his office door, remembering how there was one particular story that had yet to complete, and although he had originally planned on finishing it in the morning, Tintin found himself slowly pushing the door open to reveal his desk and typewriter sitting in amongst an array of papers and other objects. He stared in, his eyes running over the various stacks of books, broken pencils, and used ribbon spools that were scattered across his room.

"Oh, I can sleep in the morning," he finally decided, a small smile growing on his face as he stepped carefully over to his chair, sat down, and began to type.  
>"I've got time."<p>

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><p><strong>AN: **Tintin's always been quite modest and polite, so I thought that he'd be kind of oblivious to his fame until someone would point it out to him. So that's how this came about. Thank you for taking the time to read it, and I hope it was okay!

Also, a thanks to all the reviewers!  
><strong>Herring, hisokauzumaki, Lily18dm, <strong>and **Scottykarrde.**


	9. Framings

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N: **As it's 2:46am in the morning, please excuse any typos or grammatical errors xD

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><p>xXx<p>

**Frames**

To say that Tintin spent more time outside of his apartment than in was an understatement. It was no secret that he loved to travel, as seen in numerous reports he had published, but he rarely seemed to stay at home for much longer than a few weeks. He supposed it was because he got bored easily, but somehow he knew that there was more to it than that, he just didn't know what. He did like to do extra research on his reports so that he could include more contexts into the stories he wrote, but even that didn't take too long.

Every article that Tintin finished and sent in meant a lot to him as it was what tied everything up, so every time his paper would come out he would buy a copy and flick through until he could see his part. It wasn't arrogance that drew him to doing this, but his sincere curiosity see how it looked and what it was like. The feeling of excitement at seeing a piece _he'd_ written, and published in the newspaper, never changed.

Whenever he had time to kill between his travels, Tintin collected up his latest articles, both the ones he'd published and the ones he hadn't, and would carefully frame them to place up around his office. They served as a reminder every time he stepped into his workplace, something that he could simply glance up and smile at, knowing that they were his. It made it easier to sit for hours on end at his desk when he had his previous works up around the room to motivate him.

**ooo**

"Tintin, what's this one here?" the Captain asked one evening, pointing to the first of the many frames. "I don't remember seeing that one."  
>"No, I wouldn't expect so," Tintin had replied lightly from his desk without looking up, writing down notes for his next report. "That was from before I'd met you."<br>"AH, I see."

The Captain continued browsing over the wall, frowning thoughtfully as he skimmed over each article. "Blistering barnacles, you've been everywhere!" he said, noting all the locations and leaning in closer to see the images better. "Is that Scotland?"

"Sorry?" Tintin looked up to see which one his friend was pointing at this time. "Oh, yes, it is! I was in a plane that crashed near Kiltoch once, so that's how I wound up there. That island in the picture was just off the coast, from what I can remember." Tintin smiled fondly at the memories and stopped writing for a moment. "I'd like to go back there one day, when I've got time. You should come with me, I think you'd like it there."

The Captain seemed to freeze as he heard this.  
>Oh, no.<br>The clothing, remember the clothing.  
>Tintin might have been able to pull off 'the look', but him?<p>

"Scotland, me? Ha! Goodness, no! You'll be going back alone I'm afraid, Tintin. I wouldn't be caught wearing a kilt if my life depended on it," the Captain told him shortly, shaking his head at the thought and sounding final about the matter.

"So, do you keep clippings of all your reports?"

Tintin tried to suppress a laugh at his friend's reaction and somewhat abrupt change of subject from himself.  
>"Yes, I try to."<br>"You'll soon be running out of room then," the Captain pointed out, taking a step back and looking around the room. "Your wall's nearly covered already."  
>"Oh, that's alright," Tintin said dismissively, picking the pencil up again and returning to his current report.<br>"And why's that, eh?"  
>"I've still got the ceiling."<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** Thank you for reading, and any comments or reviews are always read and greatly appreciated! Even flames!

I have been taking my time with trying to find things to write about on Tintin's past because it's such a noticeably absent part to the comics. So I'm making sure I've got it right before uploading anything to do with it. I do have somethings down now, but I'm still editing through them like the Anxiety Cat that I am.

**VicPin: **Thank you! I have been working on ideas for a drabble about Tintin's past (it might be a bit too long to be a drabble in the end, but hey).**  
>herring: <strong>My fastness of updating will steadily decline. Trust me. Never underestimate the sheer power of my procrastination.**  
>Hummingbird2: <strong>Thank you!


	10. Present

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:**I've been trying to work on writing dialogue, so that's how this Drabble popped up. I hope you enjoy it!

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><p>xXx<p>

**Present**

It was a peaceful evening at Marlinspike Hall when Captain Haddock, Tintin, and Snowy returned from their short trip to Spain. They'd arrived just before the sun had gone down which allowed them time to unpack and then spend a few relaxing hours planning their next trip, before going to bed. Or at least, it would have been a peaceful, quiet evening of relaxing if Snowy hadn't spent the past half an hour chasing the cat around the house, much to his owner's annoyance.

"Ah, Tintin! You couldn't fetch me that bottle of whisky from that table over there, could you?" the Captain said when Tintin walked back into the lounge room, gesturing to the bottle that sat next on the table next to the fireplace. He'd left it there by mistake and only realized where he'd put it when his friend had returned from finally finding Snowy. "I'd go get it myself, but I figured as you were already there…" he trailed off, waving his pipe.  
>"Sure, it's no problem," Tintin told him, giving a quick smile and walking over to where the Captain was pointing. "This one, is it?"<br>"That's the one!"

Tintin picked it up and brought it over, placing it on the table next to the Captains chair.  
>"Thanks, lad." He took the bottle gratefully and carefully uncapped the top, pouring the whisky into his empty glass before becoming distracted by a faint whining noise coming from just beside his chair. He peered over the armrest slowly to find the white fox terrier, Snowy, staring up at him. He frowned at the hopeful, pleading look the dog was giving him and promptly moved the drink out of sight.<p>

"And what do you want, eh?" he said, setting the bottle down in the middle of the table. "Snowy, old fellow, the day I give you my Loch Lomond will be the day that I shave my beared off. That is to say, never_."  
><em>"What's this?" The Captain looked up to see Tintin's mildly amused expression. "You're doing what?"  
>"I was just telling your troublesome little friend of yours here," he nodded towards the dog beside him, "that I won't be sharing my whisky with him any time soon."<br>"Well, thank heavens for that. Snowy, come here!" Tintin called, not wanting Snowy to develop a habit of begging. Most of the time his dog was fairly well behaved and he wanted to keep it that way.  
>"Say, Tintin, I- uh… how did you get Snowy?" the Captain asked after a moment, the thought only just coming to him then as he watched his friend gently pick Snowy up and put him on the sofa. He was a little surprised that he hadn't asked this question before, in all the time they'd known each other it hadn't cross his mind until now. "I don't think you've ever said."<br>Tintin raised his eyebrows. "Haven't I?"  
>"Not that I can remember," the Captain replied, sitting back and giving a shrug. "I know you had him when I first met you, somehow, but I never asked. How long have you had him?"<p>

Tintin fell silent, contemplating his answer.  
>"I've had Snowy for as long as I can remember," he said finally, talking slowly as though he was still thinking about it. "Honestly, I can't recall a time when I didn't have him. I think he was a gift from someone, but I don't quite know."<br>"You can't remember?" the Captain repeated, sounding incredulous. Tintin was hardly someone to have a faulty memory, let alone at his young age. "Thundering typhoons, it can't have been that long ago, surely."  
>"Hm… it is strange," Tintin admitted and looked down at Snowy, his expression thoughtful. "I've just assumed he's always been with me, I haven't really considered how and why. But it doesn't really matter, does it?" he added, smiling and patting Snowy on the head. "So long as we're together, what can go wrong?"<p>

The Captain refrained from answering that question, despite the many examples of previous experiences coming to mind.  
>"Yes, what indeed."<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** Again, like always, reviews and constructive criticism is helpful! Thank you for reading!

Also, my updates may become a lot less consistent, so bare with me. I've started rereading all the Tintin comics again, so that's part of the reason why.  
>Another reason is my body clock is set so I fall asleep around 8:30am, and wake up at 4:00pm. I need to fix that. Somehow.<p>

A special thanks to the reviewers also! Allow me to shower you in confetti and throw a parade in your honour~


	11. Old and New

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N: **HI, ME AGAIN. Slightly late update, which isn't slightly late at all, but just merely late. I started this drabble intending to go in one direction, but instead it ended up going somewhere else. Because continuity isn't something I can do very well. I hope you enjoy it, though!

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><p>xXx<br>**Old and New**

Whenever Tintin had time to settle down at home between traveling around the world, he would cook. From an outsider's first glance, he knew it wasn't a very typical skill that was associated with someone like him, but it never stopped him from pursuing it when he could.

Surprisingly, Tintin had a wide knowledge on how to prepare and make food and, even though he was quite well versed at it, he preferred to keep this talent to himself. Even the Captain didn't quite know about it yet, possibly because at Marlinspike they had a chef who was in charge of the kitchens and Tintin never felt the need to speak up. He wasn't particularly needed in that area, so why offer? If anything, he'd be an inconvenience.

Tintin had learnt how to cook from a very young age; his father had been passionate about the pastime and made sure to teach his son as soon as he was just able to see over the kitchen bench.

"It's always important to learn about the little things," he could remember his father explaining when he had asked about it. "You may not seem to need this now, but later when you grow older you'll find this to be a very helpful habit."

He could remember the first time he helped prepare a meal and, in order to reach the bowls, his father had made Tintin a wooden stool, by hand, which he could stand on. Since then he'd always used it whenever he was with his parents in the kitchen, whether it was when he was helping them or to simply be at a slightly higher level so he could see them and talk to them more easily. He liked this, to be able to pretend to be taller and be more of an adult around his parents.  
>As he gradually grew up over the years, the legs of the stool were cut down to make up for his height. Tintin had never grown up to the point where he no longer needed to stand on it though, because he had left home before that had even come close to happening.<p>

When Tintin had just moved into his new flat and started up his new career as a reporter, he contemplated on remaking the stool in order to perhaps feel a little less separated from where he'd left his home. But as he continued to think about it, it dawned on him that constructing a copy would be absolutely impossible.  
>His version of a copy didn't quite coincide with the strict definition of what a "copy" was when it came to this one particular item, and the purpose of remaking it had been completely lost the moment he'd started considering it. Even if he could build it to be physically identical, to become a perfect replica of the chipped wooden stool he grew up on, there was no way he'd be able to recreate it with the same sentimental value, or simply just paint its history back into it.<br>Every second could not be relived back into the wood; there was no way to carve a childhood into it, or anything else really.  
>It was all to do with specific time and place, he realized, and both were long gone.<br>No, he decided, it was the one thing he couldn't take with him, and the one thing he shouldn't take with him. He was forced to start anew, and did just that.

Nothing in his flat, from that point onwards, was old. With the exception of his dog Snowy, of course, who became Tintin's only companion for the first few years.  
>To fill the empty spaces left by the absence of his previous life, Tintin travelled. When he travelled, he decided he could take parts of the world with him back home in the form of a relic, or a souvenir, anything that caught his interest, and he'd place them around his main room. Those little pieces of history he could afford to keep.<p>

Occasionally Tintin would sit back and consider what would happen if he hadn't left before he'd outgrown his life at home, but the more he thought about it, the less he could picture it.

His new life was inevitably replacing his old one and while he did miss it sometimes, he never dwelled on it for too long.  
>Maybe some day he'd look back, but for now, he was in a place that gave him closure and to turn away again might just be too much.<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** Part of my reason for this semi-late update is because I was introduced to BBC's Sherlock, and Tintin tags, and somehow went back into my Doctor Who phase.  
>And I'm a terrible procrastinator. That too. But mostly because of Sherlock, I swear.<p>

Thank you to the reviews!  
><strong>The Babyfaced Assassin, flylikeabird22, Hummingbird2, and VicPin!<br>**And also the people who read the previous chapter who I don't know read the chapter. I'll just throw this 'thank you' blindly at the screen and hope it gets to you.


	12. Mornings

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:** This came to me when I had a similar morning to Haddock today. Sort of. Well, we shared the same attitude. This is set when they're both at Marlinspike. And, on a completely unrelated note, BBC's Sherlock is taking over my life. Everywhere.

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><p>xXx<p>

**Mornings**

"Captain?" There was a pause. Tintin sighed and knocked again, this time speaking a little louder. "Captain! Are you awake yet?"  
>Still no reply.<br>So yes, he was awake.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes and just walk away, something that his friend was clearly hoping he would do, Tintin placed a firm hand on the door handle and opened the door more forcefully than he normally would have.

He half expected it to be barricaded by the bedside table; it wouldn't be the first time that had happened, and the last time it did, it had taken him a while for him to figure it out. Despite being someone with vast amounts of patience, his tolerance with waiting outside while his friend was feigning being asleep was wearing thin.  
>"Captain! We have to go now!"<br>"Blistering barnacles! I thought I locked that door!"

Tintin sidestepped as the cat was flung off the bed towards him when the Captain sat up abruptly, glaring at the door and then at Tintin, clearly not pleased with being awoken in such a manner. Or at least, pretending to having been awoken to begin with. "You could say we have to go now or next week for all I care, I'm not going." He said irritably, ignoring the exasperated expression on his friends face.

"We agreed that we'd help assist Miss Bianca Castafiore in the preparation of her performance for later this afternoon," Tintin tried to remind him, raising his eyebrows. "We promised."  
>"The main problem with that sentence is the plural."<br>"The- what?"  
>"You said 'we', when what you really mean is just you," the Captain replied shortly, rolling over and pulling the blanket over his head. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like <em>'So there.'<em>  
>Tintin fell silent for a moment, thinking about it.<br>"No, you did say," he said finally, sounding thoughtful. "And I know you did, because I was the one who suggested it to you. You agreed to help, Captain."  
>"Did I really?" the Captain peered out from under his blanket, frowning.<br>"Yes, you did."  
>"… what time is it?"<br>"7:08am."  
>Another pause. "No, I definitely didn't say anything of the sort." He turned back over again and grumbled, "Now let me sleep. It's too early in the morning to even think about going outside."<br>"I wasn't asking you to go outside," Tintin replied slowly, beginning to wonder just how much the Captain actually knew about the plans they had made the previous evening.  
>"What?"<br>"Miss Castafiore is coming here, don't you remember?"  
>"Thundering typhoons! Here?" The Captain suddenly leapt up with a surprising amount of energy, too much for someone who'd been seemingly fast asleep a few moments earlier, and stumbled towards his dresser to where his coat and cap were sitting, dragging half the bed cover along with him across the floor. "Call Nestor! Quick! It's not too late to get out while we still can!"<br>"It's Nestor's day off today, which is why we offered to help Miss Castafiore in the first place," Tintin injected mildly and taking a step back as the Captain tripped around the room wildly. He stopped moving after hearing this to give a slightly horrified look at the prospect of her arrival and at his house no less.  
>"What, here, today? Afternoon?"<br>"Mhm," he nodded, checking his watch. "In roughly around... 3 hours."  
>"Really?" He looked up hopelessly, his arms falling to his sides.<br>"Yes, really. And now that you're up," Tintin continued, giving a pleasantly amused smile. "We can start clearing the main room so we can set up the stage?"  
>It was a solid statement cleverly disguised as a leading question, something Tintin knew how to do well. He wouldn't be a reporter if he wasn't able to be subliminally persuasive in some ways.<p>

The Captains shoulders dropped in defeat and he trudged reluctantly back to his wardrobe, looking for his typical day clothing.  
>"Fine, I'll be out in five," he conceded, albeit in bad grace, wondering how on earth he always managed to get caught up in these agreements. He could tell it was going to be a long day, inevitably full of various mispronunciations of his name and musical laughs that would undoubtedly make him cringe.<br>Great.

"Thank you, Captain," Tintin said, stepping out of the room and shutting the door quietly. He was pleased with how easily he had convinced his friend to help, and he while did sympathise with the Captain, he wasn't about to turn down the opportunity to assist a friend. Besides, her creativity with the Captains name never failed to provide entertainment.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you so much to the readers and reviewers, and thank you for (still) reading this set of Drabbles! Reviews and constructive criticism are wonderful, if you want to leave some around. Also, there may or may not be typos and mistakes; I haven't actually typed this up between 2:00am-8:00am for once, so tiredness is no excuse.

Thanks to **Hummingbird2**, **VicPin**, **Herring**, **flylikeabird22**, **The Babyfaced Assassin**, and **the rest of you** who I can't identify because I don't know who you are. I have so much thanks for you that, if I had a choice between shaking your hand or meeting Sherlock, I'd chose yo- ... no I wouldn't. But it's the thought that counts.


	13. Study

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:**Don't know how or where or why this came from. But I hope you like it, and please leave a comment, or review, or anything! And this drabble is exactly 800 words long, HAZAH!

* * *

><p><strong>xXx<strong>

**Study**

Before Tintin ever followed a case overseas he'd try to make sure to study the countries language, culture, religion, current political state, and history. As a reporter, communication was the main key to learning about new places and he'd often spend time reading books about the country he would be visiting so he'd have a sufficient amount of knowledge before going. Whenever he had to leave at a moments notice, Tintin chose to take the books with him and would start writing out notes on the plane instead, much to Snowy's annoyance because it meant that the seat next to Tintin would be taken up by numerus hardback covers, and the corners of books that were never comfortable to sit on.

It soon came to a point where research wasn't as necessary anymore because he'd already learnt enough about various countries to help him through without it. It never occurred to him to make a deal out of it because firstly there was no one around he felt the need to impress, and secondly because it had become such a regular part of his life that it was no longer something he could flaunt, if he even wanted to that is. Tintin wasn't a pretentious person by nature anyway, but he did know that he was a little more able than most people when it came to visiting other countries and he was slightly proud of this.  
>He would have made a very convenient travel guide. It had taken a lot of research and study to get to this point, and he was pleased that his effort hadn't gone to waste.<p>

ooo

"Have you ever considered teaching, Tintin?" the Captain asked one morning as they sat at their little table by the window for breakfast.  
>"Teaching?" Tintin raised his eyebrows in surprise, pausing midway of pouring their tea. "I'm not entirely sure I'd be any good at it," he said, continuing with the teapot.<br>"Nonsense, lad! I think you'd be very fitted for the job!"  
>"What's wrong with being a reporter?"<br>"Absolutely nothing, I never said there was something wrong."  
>"Then why…?" He gave a slightly perplexed smile.<br>"All I said was, now listen here, blistering barnacles stop looking at me so worried all of a sudden, no, what I was merely saying is that you would make a very suitable teacher. With all your knowledge of writing, and people, and places… and stuff." He finished somewhat lamely.

The Captain lifted the paper in front of his face as though that would help brush away the weak ending to his sentence.  
>"I'd need a teaching degree," Tintin pointed out after a moment, leaning on the table and sounding as though he was actually considering the idea.<br>"Well, yes. But that would take too long to get, so best not to bother, don't you think?"  
>"Hm, a few years, perhaps. Four?"<br>"Still too long. Stop thinking about it."  
>"Why the sudden change of heart, Captain?" he raised an eyebrow and smiled, obviously amused.<br>"No reason, and no change of heart," the Captain replied shortly, frowning and peering over the top of the paper. "I wasn't suggesting for you to take up the profession as a teacher. If you did then you'd never be around anymore, too busy with writing up homework for young scallywags in a classroom. So don't ever go do that," he added. "It was a hypothetical question… er, statement, about you teaching."  
>"I see."<br>"You aren't really thinking about it, are you?" The Captain was starting to feel a bit concerned now.

Of course he'd be supportive of whatever his friend chose to do, but if he was going to fill the Marlinspike rooms with study papers he had to possibly help mark… by thunder, he would have to do something about it.  
>"You mean thinking about it as in thinking about taking up the profession?"<br>He nodded.  
>"Definitely not, I don't have the time," Tintin finally said with an easy laugh. "I travel too much, and staying in a classroom for days on end isn't my idea of a career."<br>"Ah." He nodded again in agreement, inwardly relieved by this conclusion. "Right then."  
>"Mm."<p>

There was a comfortable silence between them for a few more minutes before Tintin spoke up again.  
>"Although, you know," he began, suddenly looking thoughtful and tapping his fingers on the table, a smile just being held behind a feigned serious expression. "I could always organize the teaching lessons to be held here at Marlinspike."<p>

"WHAT?"

The Captain's outburst was admirable; he had to say, as he quickly ducked his head to avoid the tea that was falling through the air. He'd never seen a cup and saucer fly so spectacularly off the table before.  
>"I was kidding!"<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you so much for reading! I love reviews, because they're great, because you're great, because you just are. Like Sherlock, you're _that_ fine. You're good.  
>Also, this lot:<br>**Narnian Pirate, Ace Reader, Hummingbird2, The Babyfaced Assassin, MewWitch, VicPin!** Thanks for reviewing! And the rest of you, of course, who did read it but couldn't/didn't/wouldn't/hopefully will(?) leave a review! Because I can't name you because I don't have your names.

Also, just aquick note to **VicPin,**and **Herring** (and possibly others) who suggested a while back about writing more on his past, well, I have written up a fic to do with it. But it's a little different, and asdfgasf. I think I have to upload it as a separate story, but I don't even know. What would you suggest I do?


	14. Hostage

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:**I'm beginning to suck at these, I think they're becoming too long to be Drabbles now. This isn't even the Drabble I was intending to put up, but hey. Also, important-ish note at the end. It'd be great if you'd read it.

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><p><strong>xXx<strong>

**Hostage**

"You aren't going to try and escape now then, are you?" the man sneered, strutting back and fourth in front of his prisoner who was standing against the wall with his hands tied firmly behind his back. Tintin was eyeing the gun in his kidnappers hand warily, but he did know his life wasn't exactly in any immediate danger because he still had to tell them where the stolen items were. So he could risk giving a smart reply. He raised his eyebrows and looked over, regarding him in mock surprise.  
>"Did you really just ask whether, out of the choices of living or staying here and being shot, I'm going to prefer the <em>latter<em>?"  
>The kidnapper scowled. How he hated the intelligent ones.<br>"Can't you tell a rhetorical question when you hear one?" he said roughly, resisting the urge to simply just shoot him out of frustration.  
>"And can't you tell sarcasm when you hear it?" he replied placidly.<p>

The kidnapper's hard glare was met with an infuriating, subtly amused expression.  
>If it had been anyone else, he'd have to give him credit for being so audacious, and if he wasn't such a renowned reporter with such a disgustingly good set of morals, he'd even consider proposing him a spot in their criminal organisation. They could do with more people like him. But unfortunately, as it was, this was Tintin and he knew that as their captive he wasn't going to be shot any time soon until the deal for his release was made. Which would hopefully be soon, he was getting sick of being patronized, and by his hostage no less.<p>

"You're really asking for this bullet, you impudent-"  
>"No, I'm really not," Tintin returned mildly, and then took a step back as the kidnappers hand balled into a fist. Perhaps he'd pushed his boundaries too far. The man regarded him for a few silent moments, his eyes narrowing.<br>"I'll kill you dead once this is over," he finally threatened in a low voice, striding to the door. "I'll be back," he added with a scowl, walking out and slamming the door behind him.  
>"Good, I thought he'd never leave," Tintin muttered to himself in a low voice, quickly moving to where the vase sat on the only table in the room. He leant forward and knocked it onto the floor, successfully breaking it into several pieces. He wasn't concerned that his captors would hear because these rooms were made to be specifically sound proof, although he didn't want to think why. His plan to be deliberately irritating had worked. It hadn't taken much to make his company so unbearable that his kidnapper would leave the room, so now he had the time he intended to use it. He carefully knelt down and picked up one of the shards, working it around in his hand he could cut through the ropes bound around his wrists. The knots weren't very tight, so it didn't take long to free his arms, barely five minutes.<p>

"That was surprisingly easy," he noted, making his way to the door and opening it slowly.  
>"Now, if I'm lucky there should be a radio room near by, if I can find it I can send a message back to the police so they can find this location."<p>

**xXx**

"Honestly, I don't know how you do it," the Captain remarked, looking over at his friend who was just saying goodbye to the two policemen. It hadn't been difficult to find the radio room and send a message to get help, and it had only taken about half an hour for them to arrive at the hideout, break in, and arrest the band of smugglers and free their only hostage.  
>"Do what?"<br>"Keep escaping like that."  
>Tintin simply smiled and shrugged. "Well, they weren't very good kidnappers."<br>The Captain studied the young boy with an expression of concern. "And _you'd_ know. That's what worries me, lad."  
>"I'm fine, really," he said, remembering all the previous situations they'd been stuck in. "I've dealt with worse before. You know that."<br>"I know, but it doesn't stop me from having a heart attack every time I get a call saying you've gotten yourself in trouble again," the Captain said, straightening his cap and checking his watch. "You know, some day, I'm going to find a way to stop you being so reckless."  
>"Really?" Tintin looked at him, interested.<br>"Really. So instead of running around after every single meddlesome gang of who-knows-what, you'll be sitting around quietly and stop being caught up in any of this hullabaloo you like to call adventure."  
>"And how would you manage that?" he couldn't resist asking, genuinely curious.<br>"No blasting idea. But it is a nice thought, if you think about it. Us and no trouble, imagine that! HA! Like that's ever going to happen," he finished shortly.

Tintin shook his head, still smiling, and followed the Captain back to the car. He didn't say it out loud, but he did like the idea of staying out of trouble, but only for a little while.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Because I am pretty sure that in all the times he's been kidnapped, his kidnappers must have some kind of respect for the kid. I mean, if he went to the dark side, I bet he'd be a really good at it. But, I doubt that would ever happen, so the closest he'd ever get to it would be just being deliberately annoying while being a captive.

_**Important notice of apparent importance**_: I've written up another Tintin story, one that was too bigass to be a Drabble. If you'd like to go check it out, please do!

And, also thank you to:  
><strong>los kav<strong> - who definitely shall have their name mentioned! [_insert mentioning here_]  
><strong>Herring<strong> - Thank you for your suggestion! And it isn't really that much of an attachment to this set of drabbles. Although, it could be, because it did pretend to be a drabble for a bit.  
><strong>APLunch<strong> - The simplicity might not exist so much in the other one; just a heads up.  
><strong>Hummingbird2<strong>, **GoldenFlither**, **Ace Reader**, **VicPin**, and **anyone else** who's read it.


	15. Stars

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:**I tried not to get too factual in this. Tried. Also, updates will definitely not happen as quickly anymore (if at all?), because I have to go back to being educated. There will be quite a few delays, but I hope you'll still stick around for when/if I do update. Thanks!

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><p>xXx<p>

**Stars**

"Stargazing, Captain!"  
>"You- Sorry, what?"<br>"Snowy and I were just planning to go now," Tintin continued brightly, tightening his scarf around his neck. "Would you like to join us?"  
>"You want to go stargazing?" the Captain repeated, lowering his book with a look of slight disbelief. "Now?"<br>"Well, it _is_ night time," he replied lightly, nodding towards the windows. "Usually the most convenient time to do it, don't you think?" He smiled a little as though holding back a laugh, waiting for the reply.  
>"Yes, alright, alright," the Captain said impatiently, waving a hand. "I get your point. Blistering barnacles, I wasn't born yesterday!"<br>"So, are you coming with us?"  
>"Oh, I might as well." He heaved a sigh and put his book down. "Just let me get my coat."<p>

ooo

They eventually found a clear grassy area within the Marlinspike grounds without tree branches to obscure their view, and were lying comfortably on their backs. Fortunately, it was a fairly cloudless night which made it easier to see the night sky.

"You see that there? That's the North Star, called Polaris," the Captain pointed out, directing his view to the right.  
>Tintin glanced over. "How do you- Oh, of course. You were a sea Captain; you had to navigate using the stars, didn't you?"<br>"Well, we had compasses and all the typical necessary sailing equipment," he elaborated. "But it didn't hurt to learn about the skies just in case. It did help."  
>"I can imagine."<br>"I'm surprised I can still remember it though, all these years later," the Captain continued, sounding nostalgic. "It was certainly worth knowing when you're at sea, but now I don't really have a use for it."  
>"Can you tell me about it?"<br>"Of course I can. Let's see. Polaris, the one I just mentioned, is part of the constellation Ursa Minor. Can't remember what language that is, probably Latin," he added dismissively.  
>"Mm, probably. Isn't that constellation also known as the Little Dipper?" Tintin inquired, a frown appearing on his face as the name triggered a memory.<br>"Yes, that's its more common name. AH, and, do you see those four stars there? That's the Southern Cross, two of those stars point towards the celestial South Pole. The Ursa Minor points to the north, and the Southern Cross helps you find the south. Hence the name," the Captain listed, feeling quite pleased with himself for knowing this. He was just beginning to think that he finally had an area of knowledge that Tintin hadn't already studied when the idea, barely five seconds old, was promptly shot down as his friend suddenly lifted an arm to the sky to point.

"And that collection of stars over there, they make up Orion, don't they?" he said, extending a finger and running it across their vision, as though trying to trace a line between the lights. "See those three stars in a line there?"  
>"Which ones?" he replied, squinting to see easier. "Ah, those?"<br>"Yes, they make up his belt. They're an asterism. It's located on the celestial equator and visible throughout the world, apparently, from what I can recall."  
>"Aster-"<br>"A subset of stars within another larger constellation," he clarified patiently, now moving his hand down so they could see more clearly.  
>"Oh, I see." He mentally kicked himself. Of course the boy would know his astronomy. Of course he would. It'd just be awkward if he didn't.<p>

"How come you just seem to… _know_ everything?" the Captain asked loudly after a few moments of silence.  
>"Hm?"<br>"Like that, right then!"  
>"Orion?"<br>"Yes, Orion! When did you learn about it?"  
>Tintin laughed quietly. "I really don't know all that much. I just happened to know about that one particular constellation, but I'm not that well versed in astronomy," he said, assuredly. "I wouldn't be able to tell you the mythology behind it or its exact coordinates if you asked. But I could tell you the scientific names for the stars, I think."<br>"See what I mean?" the Captain said, sounding torn between good natured annoyance and admiration. Tintin was frustratingly brilliant sometimes. "Everything."  
>"No, no." Tintin said demurely, still smiling. "I'm fairly certain you could do more with your knowledge of the stars than I could. I mean, if we got lost at sea, I'd hardly be able to find a way back to land, now then would I?"<p>

The boy had a point there.

"You didn't say," the Captain continued, after thinking about it. "How you knew about it to begin with."  
>"I visited an observatory once."<br>"Really?"  
>"Well, twice; once with my parents, and once for a report case."<br>"Your parents?" The Captain sat up and looked over. He hadn't meant to sound surprised, but he'd never heard stories of Tintin's childhood experiences, let alone his parents.  
>"I must have been about… thirteen? There'd been a lecture about the constellation Orion that one time, and I can still remember it for some reason. I can't think why, it'd been very dull. So that's all I got out of my first observatory visit: a very tedious, useless experience."<br>"What about the second time?"  
>"Oh, second experience definitely hadn't been tedious."<br>"No?"  
>"No," Tintin repeated. "Second time… I'd met you. We sailed across the world and found a meteorite, and brought it home." He paused momentarily, appreciating the memory before speaking again in a slightly softer tone. "How on earth could that ever be tedious?"<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** A little slashy, if you look at it a certain way, and I don't even slash Tintin and Haddock. Thank you for taking the time to read!

Please leave another review if you liked this chapter, that would be great! Constructive criticism helps too, if you have any. And, for the record, I wrote this as a platonically bromantic outing of stargazing, but you can and may interpret it as you wish! By the way: Sherlock. Always, and I love it. Also, if you'd like to make your own suggestions perhaps for future Drabbles?

Thanks, again, to:  
><strong>APLunch, shiree<strong>,**and Hummingbird2.  
>Herring -<strong> I can't write AU, and writing darkside Tintin would be funny, but I don't think I could quite pull it off without OOC'ness being everywhereIt is a nice idea though, hopefully someone else might do that.

Thank you for reviewing and reading!


	16. Forget

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © Hergé.

**A/N:** This update is sooner than I had thought it would be. My updates will still be quite spread apart, because education. I hope you enjoy reading this! Also, prompts and ideas for future Drabbles are appreciated! I'll try and incorporate them in future chapters.

* * *

><p><strong>xXx<strong>

**Forget**

Tintin was not, by any means, a forgetful person. He was surprisingly responsible for someone at his young age, and this helped him when he was working. After all, reporting meant you had to learn and memorise everything that was both important and not so important, because detail mattered more than anything. He could easily remember everything he had done over the past month and recall them when he needed to at his typewriter, and it seemed like he was able to manage all tasks he set his mind to. At least, this is what the Captain had thought until he noticed one small particular habit Tintin had that he soon found quite amusing.

Whenever Tintin would be working on typing up a report he'd always prepare tea, and occasionally, toast. It was like no other kind of drink or food would be acceptable when in the mindset of doing a report, and it became especially clear when the Captain strolled into the kitchen one evening to see 5 mugs of tea sitting across the bench and 2 slices of toast in the toaster and one slice of bread on a plate. It wasn't the first time he'd found tea mugs around the place, but most of the time they had been in his friends room or office and there'd never been more than two.

On closer inspection the Captain realized that the mugs placed along the bench were all empty, save for the tea bags, and it had left him completely bemused until a heavy sigh from the next room, followed by the young boy walking dejectedly back into the kitchen, answered his question.

"I keep doing this, every time," Tintin told him as he walked directly past the Captain, who was still looking confused and unsure about what to do, and towards the kettle to re-boil it.  
>"Er… doing what?"<br>"I boil the kettle, and then I don't make the tea. And I put bread in the toaster, and by the time I remember that I've done that," he picked the cold pieces of toast out of the machine with two fingers and held it up. "It's been there for about an hour already and it's not so... edible anymore." He dropped them down onto another plate anyway, and lent on the bench tiredly. Tintin was very aware of his habit of forgetting and it irritated him to no end, but he just couldn't get rid of it. That's not to say without trying, because he had tried. He'd tried setting an alarm and writing notes to himself, but they'd never work because he simply ended up ignoring them. Whenever he was preoccupied with his work, everything else suddenly became extra insignificant.

"Well, we're all absent minded sometimes, lad," the Captain said, trying to sound reassuring and holding back the urge to laugh.  
>"Yes, but now it's getting ridiculous." He looked over the row of empty mugs pointedly and raised an eyebrow. "I've boiled that kettle so many times I'm surprised it isn't empty; I expect all the water should've evaporated by now."<br>"Well, do you really need 5 cups of tea?"  
>"No, but I like to get a new one out each time, for some reason. But no, I don't need 5 of them. I can put them away again, if you want?"<br>" No, no. Don't bother; I can do that for you. You go back to your er… work, and I'll clear up here," the Captain offered, nodding towards the door and collecting the tea mugs up to put back on the shelf. "You looked busy, and this won't take a moment."  
>Tintin smiled in thanks and then continued out to the next room, making a mental note to actually remember that he'd boiled the kettle this time.<br>He didn't.

He was in the middle of typing a particularly long sentence explaining how he'd been freed from this one prison cell when his vision of the paper in front of him was suddenly obscured by a hand, and a blue mug. He blinked, stopped typing, and followed the hand up to its owner.  
>"Here, you forgot this." The Captain grinned down at him, holding out the tea that Tintin had, once again, left unattended to. He sat still for a moment, and then quickly reached out and took the tea gratefully.<br>"Thank you! I- you didn't have to Captain, and I was just about to go-… well, I wasn't, but I was intending to make it myself."  
>"I know, which is why you never ended up getting it," the Captain replied, taking a seat opposite him and placing his book on the table. "Sorry for interrupting you. Thundering typhoons, you don't have to drink it all now!" he added, frowning as Tintin immediately started to lift the drink up.<br>"I have to, if I don't, I end up leaving it next to my typewriter and I never touch it," he explained, glancing to another cup of tea that he'd left before.  
>"You don't remember even when-? But it's right there!" the Captain said, looking incredulous. "You still forget about it even when it's sitting in front of you?"<br>"You wouldn't think so, would you?" He smiled and took a sip. "I know; it's a terrible habit."  
>"So, the Famous Boy Reporter," the Captain began after a moment, a grin spreading over his face as he lit his pipe. "Who knew he could be foiled by a simple cup of tea?"<br>Tintin lowered the tea back down to his lap.  
>"… please don't say it like that."<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Because inflicting your own irritating habits onto fictional characters is a highly effective coping mechanism.

Thank you to these reviewers:**  
>APLunch<strong>, **Herring**, **The Babyfaced Assassin**, **Hummingbird2**,**Ace Reader**, and everyone else who I can't mention here.

**Daniella -**about your Drabble idea, I've definitely taken it into consideration and I'll try and get it up in a Drabble soon, but I don't think I can write it in first person. Is that okay? (I'll give you credit for the idea in the A/N) Thank you so much for taking the time to review!


	17. Upside Down

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:**This chapter was meant to be uploaded yesterday, but there was a glitch with the site so I couldn't log in. So here it is, one day later than intended.  
>AND, you're welcome to drop a review on your way out, because they make up my air. Seriously, though.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>xXx<strong>

**Upside Down**

"Tintin."  
>The Captain came to an abrupt halt, stopping dead in his tracks half way past the open door before backtracking a few steps so he could see in. He blinked.<br>"What in the blazes are you doing?!" he exclaimed, his expression bemused as he stared at his friend who was currently standing upside-down against the wall with his feet in the air. He knew the boy wasn't like most people, but this? This wasn't like anyone.

Tintin just smiled and asked mildly, "What does it look like?"  
>The Captain opened his mouth to reply but he couldn't seem to form his thoughts into words. He was at a loss at what to say. What <em>did<em> it look like? How on earth was he supposed to answer a question like that when the young reporter was standing upside down with his feet propped up against the wall. He was getting the expectant look as though the answer was blatantly obvious, but this was just utterly confusing. What on earth could call for handstands at this time in the morning?

"Some kind of… ritual?" he guessed, not entirely seriously. "I don't know, a circus trick? You're running away to join a circus? God, I hope that's not it. I don't know! Blistering barnacles, Tintin, can't you just tell me why you're standing… uh... like that?"  
>There was a sigh as his friend kicked off the wall easily and lowered his legs back to the floor, surprisingly graceful for such a strange position to get down from.<br>"It's yoga," Tintin finally explained, turning around and sitting cross legged in a practiced motion. "I've taken it up again since we've been back, and I've been going through a few stances I know off by heart. That one I was just doing is called Sirsha-asana. The headstand," he added, seeing the clueless look on the Captains face.  
>"Oh, naturally. Of course, headstand. Yoga. Obviously," he said, trying not to roll his eyes. "Why didn't I think of that?"<p>

The Captain did have a vague understanding of the practice, but it wasn't particularly something he'd thought about much, let alone having taken the time to learn. Still, it shouldn't have been surprising that his young friend knew about it; it was the ideal sort of thing for someone like him.  
>"It helps me think and relax," Tintin told him, now bringing his arms behind his head. "I find that it helps with maintaining focus when fighting too, which is always helpful. It heightens your coordination, somewhat." His eyes suddenly brightened as a smile appeared on his face, an idea coming to him. "Hey, Captain! Would you try-?"<br>"No!" The Captain interrupted before he had even finished his sentence. "Thundering typhoons, definitely not."

Tintin didn't look at all startled by this reply. Really, he knew that the Captain would have refused, but his reactions to these kinds of things were always amusing; just the look on his face was enough.  
>"Why ever not? You might like it!" he continued anyway, looking vaguely hopeful even though he knew that the blatant refusal wouldn't change. The Captain shook his head vigorously and started waving his arms about as he replied, as though that would help emphasise his point.<br>"You know I'm not a young lad like you anymore, I'd end up doing more harm than good," he said, walking around briskly. "I'm not made for doing handstands around the house and whatever other crazy antics there are, cartwheels next, I expect. No, I'll have to leave that to you, I'm afraid."  
>"Well, if you say so."<br>"Yes, well. There," the Captain finished shortly. "Now I've got to go downstairs; I told Nester to prepare breakfast, so come down when you've finished your er… whatever it is you're doing."  
>"Okay, thank you, Captain."<br>"I'll see you then." He gave a curt nod and walked out, deciding to find Calculus in the hopes of some saner company. He frowned at this thought. "Blistering barnacles, now _I'm_ going mad," he muttered to himself as he stepped down the stairs, realizing he'd just thought of Calculus being more sensible than Tintin.  
>He quickened his pace, sincerely hoping that when he did find the professor, he wouldn't be doing handstands too.<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** Credits must go to the reviewer **Daniella** for suggesting the Yoga + Tintin = Canon to make into a chapter, thank you! Please leave a review for this chapter, because they make my life.

And, you guys, here. Take my soul stamped with the official seal of THANK YOU for reviewing the last chapter. It's yours. Forever.  
><strong>flylikeabird22<strong>,**Hummingbird2**, **GoldenFlither**,**Ace leader**, **randomfanofyours**,**quioup**, **Lily18dm**, **RandomPerson164**,**MewWitch, VicPin**,**The Babyfaced Assassin**, and also**spinningisfun, los kav, Herring, and Daniella.**


	18. Odd

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:** I should note that these chapters aren't necessarily connected. I'll most likely update on weekends when I have more time to procrastinate with studyin- I mean, write these out and use the ideas some of you have (kindly) suggested.

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><p><strong>xXx<strong>

**Odd**

Captain Archibald Haddock and Tintin certainly made an odd pair.  
>The two people were different in so many ways; Tintin had a youthful, optimistic air about him that everyone could appreciate and he was so pleasantly carefree and quiet spoken, whereas Haddock was almost the opposite. To Tintin's positive attitude, the Captain would often inject a contrasting cynical overview with a scatter of various reactions ranging from his powerful temper to his mindless, drunken ramblings. He was a lot more expressive so he didn't try to suppress his emotions; he felt and he acted immediately. Tintin felt, assessed, considered more, and then acted based on reason and usually with as much tact as he could manage.<p>

As implausible as their partnership was, they were very compatible. They hadn't realized it, but they needed each other to balance their two personalities, to complete them. Their friendship was held together by their differences. Whenever the two would argue, which was on rare occasions, the Captain would be the first to raise his voice. It could be frightening when he yelled, as the reporter had noted by the reactions of whoever was on the receiving end of his rants on their numerous adventures, but Tintin had never been scared by it. The Captain didn't do it to be intimidating, or to be genuinely hurtful, but it was just how he was; he had been a sea Captain and had needed to control an entire crew for several years, so it became an automatic thing for him to speak loudly so that he could be listened to. Tintin somehow understood this and would often just keep silent and wait it out until there was a brief pause where he could insert something he wanted to say, and be heard; for the most part he'd never try to shout back.

Their arguments were seldom severe because, despite any disagreements, they valued each other more than either could, or would, admit and they both knew when and where to draw the line. They didn't need to explain this to each other as it had become a mutual understanding over the time they spent together building their friendship, and it became a shared knowledge between them that they hadn't needed to openly talk about to know that it existed. They'd move on easily soon after any sort of fight they might have had.

Tintin, by nature, was a very forgiving person. He didn't like to hold grudges, so even though he remembered many previous incidents, he wouldn't use them as a backup unless it was absolutely necessary to his point. The Captain, on the other hand, did hold some degree of hard feelings, but they weren't towards his friends. He'd save it for the people who might step in their way or threaten Tintin, or their lives. He was never too concerned with his own life when they were in serious trouble, and was usually more intent on finding a way for at least his young companion to get out of their situation if it came down to just the two of them. He didn't see it as being overly paranoid, as some people would like to mention from time to time, but as simply being protective. He'd be damned if Tintin was to have his life cut short by someone or something while _he_ was still around.

The Captain hadn't spoken about these particular thoughts to anyone, and he didn't think he needed to. The way he saw it, he'd already lived his life; he'd experienced the joys of growing up, travelling the seas, finding a first love, losing it, and then moving on, finding many new things as the years passed by. His friend, Tintin, on the other hand, still had so much more to see. He had so many years that he deserved to live through, and the life threatening dangers that had the potential to take that from him were the first on Captain Haddock's list of **Not Good – Don't Ever Allow To Happen**. If there was anything worth the time and effort to work for, it was their future, and through the Captains eyes, specifically Tintin's.

**oOo**

The Captain and Tintin looked out and cared for each other unconditionally, and this had simply come to be without either of them uttering a single word about it.

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><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for reading! And, if it's not too much trouble, feedback on how these are going would be great, as are ideas for future… er… now vignettes. Or drabbles. Or a bit of both. (Thank you to LM Simpson for suggesting the change!) By the way, I'm experiencing a bit of language interference, so please bear with me while I learn to English well good again.

Also these guys, for reviewing! And anyone else who read and didn't review. YES, I'M LOOKING AT YOU. Thank you!  
><strong>Narnian<strong>, **Pirate**, **Herring**, **flylikeabird22**, **J.M. Speed**, **The Babyfaced Assassin**, **Bandling 45**, **Daniella**, **VicPin**!  
>I still owe you my soul, I think. Here, have another one.<p> 


	19. Loss

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

****A/N**: **The number of times I have edited this is painful to think about. You have no idea how happy I am to have kicked this off my list of other semi-completed stories. My God. It's been on my computer since 5/1/2012. So yes. Go figure.

* * *

><p><strong>xXx<strong>

**Loss**

The very first time Tintin held a gun had been only on his fourth case as a reporter.  
>It had been in his much younger days but he could still remember it with startling clarity.<p>

At the very beginning of his career, before he'd grown used to it, he found himself so caught up in the elation of this entirely new world he was finding in his travels that when serious trouble struck unexpectedly, he'd acted rashly and had been forced to take control using his last choice of action. Up until that point Tintin had simply taken each day as his own without any further thoughts, enjoying his freedom to do what he wanted without thinking ahead. But when he suddenly found his life in real danger, reality crashed back down on him and he realized that not everything he uncovered would stay at a safe distance, and it caught him off guard.

On that day, Tintin's curiosity had led him to the main headquarters of a little known criminal organisation he'd found out by accident. While investigating the seemingly deserted building, he somehow stumbled into one of the main guards, who happened to be armed, which then ensured a long pursuit through the narrow hallways until they reached a room with only one door. Once in the room Tintin could see there were a collection of handguns conveniently stashed across the low shelves, possibly to be stored in crates later, and in a desperate act to defend himself Tintin ran across and picked the gun closest to him, hoping it was loaded and forgetting his previous objective to never use one.

He could remember grasping the small device and how, in that exact one moment, everything seemed to freeze as he brought his arm over in front of him and pulled the trigger. He had never held a weapon like this before let alone having aimed one at somebody and shot, and during his first days as a reporter he had hoped to avoid ever having to. He disliked the idea of threatening someone in such a way, but when it had come down to the last second, it was his life he valued more.

That first shot he fired successfully disarmed his opponent and he took the distraction to escape past and find the way out, without looking back. It was only when he had finally made it back to his apartment, and sat down on the sofa with Snowy, that Tintin realized he was trembling.

It seemed silly to him to be so shaken up by this but if he was really honest with himself, he'd finally realized how truly frightened he had felt in those short moments he was running, and how careless he'd been.

He gradually calmed down as the adrenalin began to wear off, his thoughts clearing as he carefully analysed what had happened in his mind. It was during this closer inspection of his actions that Tintin slowly came to terms with something that he hadn't noticed before: that not everything would meet his expectations, regardless of how high or low they might have been. Tintin realized, in hindsight, that not everything would be like he'd imagined and that unpredictability wasn't something he could afford to chance if he didn't have to. Today, he'd just been lucky and the fact he was still alive was not something he should be taking for granted. His blind ignorance had been forcefully alleviated, and it led to him opting to be more cautious in the future with what he did, and where he went.

Tintin hadn't noticed it at the time, but that one experience marked the start of what became the end of his childhood. There was a certain loss of his worldly naivety after that day, although he still retained his optimistic views to any situation, just with a little more reason. He'd ventured past the shallow perceptions of what most people wanted to see the world as, a child's view, and delved deeper into what _really_ made up his place of being. This world, while it held many mysteries and times for adventure just waiting for him, was not a perfect place. He'd vaguely acknowledged this beforehand, but now it was different; now he'd been there and seen it for himself without the influence of the media, or biased written articles. It'd had been a personal interaction where he'd witnessed the kind of dangers that were hidden under the many layers of society and it widened his understanding.

It was the day he became a true reporter, and lost the simplistic innocent ideas of what he thought the world was like both on the surface and below. Being a reporter meant was able to expose the truth, the honest truth and share it as it _should_ be shared, an ideal that he never lost sight of from that day forward.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Your feedback/reviews are like _**Sherlock**_ to me; they are the Sherlock to my Watson. HA. I need to stop mentioning other fandoms here.

I've always wondered how Tintin, at such a young age, had become so mature with everything he does, especially with using weaponry. Because I'm pretty sure handing a gun to a young adolescent isn't usually recommended, and surely they'd have some issues with it to begin with before they can use it confidently. So that's how this came about.

Reviewers Badges of Thanks go to:  
><strong>Herring<strong> - I'm kind of tempted to kind of sway off the 'nice-and-sweetest' thing for a chapter and just write some angst or something, but then it might just ruin the set. Not sure.  
><strong>Los kav, VicPin<strong>, **LM Simpson**, **Daniella**,** Bandling**, **Pink-Pencil-Girl303**, **flylikeabird22, Hummingbird2**, **GoldenFlither**.  
>And the lot who <strong>read-but-don't-review<strong>. Even you get one. Enjoy your badger.


	20. Dragonfly

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N: **This might be the last chapter uploaded for quite a while. But I'm pleased I managed to keep this up until chapter 20, because my work ethic is absolutely rubbish. I will still be writing chapters, and I definitely have taken the ideas suggested into account, but it'll take time for me to finish them up to a point where they're worth putting up to read.

* * *

><p><strong>xXx<strong>

**Dragonfly**

It was late in the afternoon when Tintin was carefully clearing up his desk and typewriter for the first time in four weeks. In his mind, he thought his workplace was rarely disorganized as he could usually memorise exactly where he'd put every particular object, so what may have seemed like a "thundering big mess" to the Captain, to him everything had just been meticulously placed where it should be for a specific reason that only _he_ could understand. It was quite an unusually childish way of thinking for him, but Tintin would not let anyone touch his possessions even if they just wanted to tidy them, because afterwards he knew he wouldn't be able to find them again until the supposed 'mess' had been remade.

The problem he found with other people (Nestor - if he was going to completely honest and be naming names), clearing his desk is that they'd (he'd) put everything in their typically allocated places; so the paper would move from under his research books and back onto the paper folder, his pencils would be collected up from around his desk and put into a pencil-case then put in the bottom draw, and his scrunched up drafts of previously disregarded reports would be binned and then taken out. It didn't matter that he'd given up on those particular sections of work and thrown it aside; that didn't necessarily mean that he wanted them gone forever. What if he suddenly changed his mind and decided he wanted them back? That would defeat the purpose of being a professional reporter if his workplace could be unbalanced and everything had been neatened up so he couldn't find previous articles. For someone so insistent on keeping things in good condition, at a first glance his desk told the exact opposite.

As the weeks would pass, the disarray of objects would gradually grow and spread out as more and more things would accumulate around his typewriter, which would inevitably lead to a point where he'd snap, and go on a cleaning frenzy and reorganize everything, again. Tintin had told Nestor (multiple times), the Captain, and even the professor that he'd take care of his workspace and that they didn't have to worry about it.

So that was how he'd wound up with a duster, sweeping dust off his desk and along the windowsill with one hand and aligning his folders with the other. He had his head turned towards his folders, and if he hadn't been so adept at multitasking so that his books didn't fall everywhere as he did this, he might not have heard the quiet flittering that was coming from behind the curtains. Tintin quickly paused what he was doing to listen more closely, noting that it was too quick and light to be a bee or a wasp, so he placed everything to one side and peered curiously over to where the sounds were coming from. Pulling the curtains back he found the last thing he'd been expecting; a single, long winged dragonfly. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Look at this Snowy!" he called out, moving closer to the windowsill. "I can't believe it." He glanced down at his dog who was looking up at him expectantly, listening.  
>"A dragonfly... I didn't think they were very common around here. It's been such a long time since I've seen one so close. The last time must have been years ago, back when-" he fell silent, a subtle frown appearing on his face as he tried to remember.<p>

Marlinspike was in a fairly secluded area and, for some reason, it was highly unusual to find dragonflies around the house; they were very uncommon despite the fact there were a quite a few marshes around the countryside. As he tried to think of how one could have been trapped inside when they were so impossible to find outside, Tintin started to recall a memory from years ago when he was a child, and how he'd always found dragonflies around the garden at his parents house.

As a child Tintin had played outdoors more than he had indoors, and one of the things he'd loved to do was run around outside in the garden and, with a glass jar, capture a few of the many dragonflies that often scattered the air. He'd follow them as they danced through the trees with his arms outstretched and try to catch them with his hands, and he usually managed to achieve this by quickly snatching at them when they had settled on a leaf or bench for a fleeting moment. His parents, particularly his father, never stopped him from doing this; they knew that unlike most other young boys around his age, Tintin wouldn't keep them for more than an hour and didn't find amusement in shaking the container when the dragonfly was still inside or try to keep it until it died. Instead, he'd set the jar down and simply look at the beauty of its wings, admiring how the light would flicker through and how the gracefully agile the dragonfly was. Tintin remembered how once he'd been teased for not behaving cruelly and instead of stepping the insect into the ground, he had opened the lid and let it go back where he'd found it once he'd done looking. The jeering laughter of his peers hadn't bothered him at all, but in hindsight he wondered what had become of them once they had grown up. It didn't matter, because in the end Tintin was fairly certain that out of all of them, he'd gotten the most out of the experience.

He smiled a little at the memory as it gradually came back to him, realizing that it was something he'd completely forgotten when he'd moved to the city to become a reporter. He leant over and gently opened the window so the dragonfly could go free, deciding that now would be the best time before it flew to another room in the mansion. It took a few seconds for the dragonfly to find its way up the window pane and out, but it was more than enough time for Tintin to inspect it closely and take note of every little detail making up its wings, its flight pattern, and its colours.

"I doubt there're any left around here anymore. That must have been one of the last ones," he said quietly to himself, watching the window until the dragonfly had completely gone, carried away by the wind.

'_That is a shame_.'

He let out a complacent sigh and then slowly resumed his previous task of clearing his desk, thinking of how unlikely it could have been that he should have remembered that particular memory from his past. It made him wonder just how many other things he may have forgotten and, despite the fact he didn't necessarily need the memories anymore, how valuable they might be if he was to find them again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **You guys, thank you for reading! If you were to leave a comment on what you thought of this chapter, that'd be great because it is nice to hear feedback every now and then on how/whether to improve.

Also, special thank you to:  
><strong>los kav<strong>, **Herring**, **Daniella the muggle**, **Hummingbird2**,**Smiles**,**flylikeabird22**, **Pink-Pencil-Girl303**, and **LM Simpson**!


	21. Prices

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N:**Well, yes. It has been a while. This wasn't the chapter I was going to put up, but I figured why not?

* * *

><p><strong>xXx<strong>

**Prices**

Unbeknownst to almost everyone, Tintin had been brought up in a very wealthy family. This was hardly something he liked to share with people though, because then it would ask the question of why he chose to live in a relatively small apartment flat. The answer was simple: he didn't feel the need to spend excessively. He wasn't a very materialistic person, so buying an entire house simply for himself and Snowy seemed unnecessary and a waste. Besides, the money he would spend would be mostly his own, not from inheritance. The amount he would earn from only reporting was enough to pay the rent, buy food, and with the little left over to buy small luxuries.

When he had left to the city to start his new career, his decision had been met with plenty of apprehension and disapproval from his parents. It wasn't because they didn't like him having an occupation of a reporter; it was because they didn't see why he felt the need to work. He'd grown up in a fairly sheltered environment, but somehow he'd managed to break out of the family tradition of just inheriting money, and persuaded them to let him leave. To them they saw it as a rebellious phase that they eventually realized their son wouldn't grow out of, but to Tintin he saw it as a way to learn new things, and being held back wasn't something he was going to tolerate.

Moving away hadn't been very expensive; he'd had savings of his own and used them to find a comfortable apartment space and it was enough to support him in the very short term. His parents weren't cruel people so, despite their initial objection to Tintin's insistence of working, they were still concerned and gave him access to a separate bank account of theirs in the off-chance reporting didn't work out or he just needed the money as backup. Tintin had been surprised by this and appreciated this gesture of support, but he felt it was a little unfair to use their money for something he should be working for, and the idea that his parents should pay for something they had initially been so against didn't quite agree with him. Explaining this carefully, however, had been another matter and he couldn't figure a way to tell them without seeming conceited. In the end he decided to accept the card that arrived in the mail with the letter saying what it was meant for, and he placed it aside in the draw next to his bed for keepsakes. For the first few years he never used it, and he never needed to.

This changed, one day, when the paper he wrote for offered him the opportunity to travel overseas.

His reports had been previously confined to only one column on one of the first few pages, but the growing popularity and admiration for his writing had convinced the company to give him a larger space to write his stories and a longer time to develop them. It had taken a while to arrange such a change, but after finally sorting out the documents and adjustments, they sent him an official letter stating the new conditions and asking whether he would accept them.

The new conditions granted him permission to travel and find stories in any place of his choice, and so long as he wrote a report that was much longer than usually required and up at the same standard as his shorter ones, he was allowed to take his reporting anywhere he liked. Tintin, after receiving the letter, could not have been happier but he soon realized that the cost of travelling over the world to places he wished to go could not easily be met by his current savings. He was expected to find larger stories and he wasn't being timed so he could pace himself, however the pressure to do something bigger was still there and Tintin found himself considering whether now was the time to use the help his parents had offered. It wasn't specifically something he could afford by himself which was different from everything else he had bought, but he still wasn't entirely sure whether it was right to open up the account now after years of neglecting it.

His reluctance didn't last very long.

Once his parents had heard of his success they immediately wrote to him insisting that he use the money to at least fund his trips, if not for anything else. Over the years they had noticed how their son had refused to use the money they had provided, and in a way, they grew proud of him because of it. It was still bemusing that he would want to work, but they could understand a love and curiosity for seeing the world and if their account for him was worth anything, that would be it. So it was a convenient compromise that was made between him and his parents; Tintin would only use that account to fund his trips to new places, something his parents could relate to and value (more so than working), and his work at home would be his own responsibility.

**oOo**

Wealth wasn't something that was limited to materialistic things, and to Tintin, the value of expanding your experiences and seeing new places was worth more than anything.

It was priceless.

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><p><strong>AN:** Feedback is always welcome.  
>This came about when I was wondering how he manages to afford to go galavanting across the world, and why he doesn't report on a regular basis like every two weeks. Thank you for reading and sticking around! The next update might take a while, again.<p>

The compulsory thank you to everyone who reviewed, recently!  
><strong>Pink-Pencil-Girl303<strong>, **Herring**, **Hummingbird2**, **GoldenFlither**, **VicPin**, **Daniella the muggle**, **Jelsemium**,**AnimatedSuperChick196**, **hisokauzumaki**, and **hurdory**.


	22. Melody

**Disclaimer:** Tintin and all characters, settings, and ideas referenced to from the comics © **Hergé**.

**A/N: **...is that a deserved study break I see under all my piles of paperwork and examination preparation, or just another element of procrastination that's allowed me to update?! Hint: I never deserve study breaks, because to obtain a study break, you first need to study.  
>Thank you for reading this!<p>

* * *

><p><strong>xXx<strong>

**Melody**

One problem the Captain had with visiting the theater in the evening was the timing of the shows. The select few performances that he specifically wanted to see were usually spread throughout the night, so to see them all he would have to sit through a number of various other acts which were often boring, or painful, and very tedious. But nevertheless, being the stubborn man he could be, the Captain would sit until the program had followed through until the end. On this one particular evening the program had been more inconvenient than usual, so by the time the Captain had returned to Marlinspike from the theater it was already long past 11:30pm. He stood outside the house in the cold air and soon found himself stuck with a minor problem that should have been obvious before he'd left earlier that day.

The Captain had gone out alone for once, so he hadn't had the common sense that was Tintin with him, which meant he hadn't had someone to remind him to take a spare key before stepping into the car and driving off.

'_Why must these things only occur to you when it's too late?_' he thought, scowling and rummaging around his pockets anyway. After not finding anything he dropped his hands and stared at the doorhandle dubiously, unsure with what to do about his situation and suddenly wishing they did what everyone else did where they'd simply hide a spare key under the pot plants or doormat. He ran over possible solutions in his head, trying to figure something out.

The chances of anyone being awake at this time were fairly low which meant if the door was locked, which it usually was at this time, he'd have to find another way in. Breaking into his own house wasn't something he wanted to try, but he didn't want to wake everyone up by knocking either.

"Blistering barnacles. This always has to happen, doesn't it?" he muttered irritably, reaching out to try turning the doorhandle, deciding that if he was going to find alternate ways in he might as well try with the simplest methods first. For the sake of security, Nestor or Tintin would often take the responsibility to make sure that the doors and windows were locked once it got dark so it was to his pleasant surprise that the door swung open, and the Captain was able to make his way in.

He shut the door silently and glanced around to make sure he hadn't disturbed anyone, frowning when he noticed a faint warm glow coming from the lounge room. The fireplace must have been left alight and the Captain could tell by the mellow flickering that the fire hadn't been looked after for a while and was slowly dying down.

What had previously been a presumption of just very good luck quickly turned into worry. They locked the door for a reason and now that the fire wasn't seemingly being tended to either, the Captain started to consider whether this sudden apparent carelessness might be because something had gone wrong. He crept up to the room and peered inside cautiously, making sure to be quiet. His eyes widened at what he saw. He hesitated briefly, debating whether he should interrupt, before stepping inside.

From the light of the fire he could make out the silhouette of his young friend who was standing in front of a tall music stand with his back to the door. Why the lad would be choosing to stand next to the armchair and not turn the light on made no sense to the Captain, but he'd learned not to question the strange habits Tintin would surprise him with. The Captain wasn't even sure if Tintin had noticed he'd returned home and, as he came closer, he could see he was focused on what was being written on the paper. Occasionally Tintin would bring his hand forward and make a few markings on the lines before returning back to staring contemplatively at the sheet, lightly chewing the end of the pencil. He would then read over it a few times, hum quietly, stop to write again, and then continue to concentrate on what he could be writing next.

"Tintin?"

The young boy gave a small smile, finished writing the next few lines and then glanced up, indicating he knew that the Captain had returned without acknowledging it beforehand.

"Welcome back."

The Captain nodded, making his way more quickly to the chair and settling down next to where Tintin was standing in front of the fireplace. When his friend picked the stand up and shifted it to the left so there'd be more room he caught a glimpse of what Tintin had been writing on the paper; there were a series of musical notes on the lines and small words written above them.

"I didn't know you could sing, lad!" he said, sounding surprised.  
>"Yes, that's because I can't," Tintin replied evenly, although not sounding entirely truthful.<br>"What's this, then?" he asked, looking pointedly at the music sheet on the stand.  
>"I'm just writing."<br>"AH, composing."  
>"I wouldn't quite call it that yet, this isn't even my music. That's not to say I can't compose, I just haven't tried before," he added.<br>"Wait, not your music? You're writing it, aren't you?" The Captain frowned.  
>"The melody isn't mine."<br>"Oh."  
>"I'm trying to recreate a song I used to know from years ago. It's been caught in my head for a while, so I thought tonight I'd try to write the sheet music from what I can remember," he explained, pointing with the tip of the pencil.<br>"Oh, I see." The Captain peered over at the sheet on the stand. "So, what song is it?"  
>"That's the problem. I don't know."<br>"You don't know?"  
>"My mother used to sing it to me when I was a child, before I'd go to sleep every night," Tintin said, pausing to write a few more notes. "For some reason I can remember the melody and the words perfectly, but I can't remember what it was called." He looked over at the Captain. "You wouldn't happen to know what it is, do you?"<br>"I don't recognize it," the Captain said, sounding a little apologetic.  
>"That's okay." He went back to staring at the sheet thoughtfully. "I'm sure I'll figure it out once I've completed it."<br>"How does it go?"  
>"Just a second, I just need to finish this line."<p>

Tintin read over the sheet and hummed the tune as he followed each note, adding a few more once he had reached the end and then repeating the last bar.  
>"It's almost done," he said finally, pleased with what he'd figured so far. "There isn't a lot left to go, I think I should complete it within the hour."<br>The Captain looked up at him. "Do you mind if I stay here while you finish it?"  
>He smiled. "Of course. It'd be nice to have company while I do this," Tintin assured him, turning back to the paper.<p>

They sat in silence for the next 40 minutes, save for the light scribbling and soft humming from Tintin and the occasional question from the Captain.  
>The title of the song never did come back to him, but in the end it didn't really matter so much.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I must give credit to my reviewer Herring, who gave me this prompt about a decade and a half ago.  
>Sheer, unadulterated stress and desperation has also made me upload 2 other Tintin stories since: <strong>The Meretricious Dispossession of the Valentine PART 1 and 2<strong>, and **Russian Roulette**.  
>Especially for the latter, constructive criticism would be particularly appreciated, and also any reviews.<br>One is light and humourous, the other is an attempt at suspense, and quite different.

**The Prompt:  
>Herring: <strong>maybe you could write, like, a song? i dunno. or a drabble about tintin singing? yes. yes. lets all hear tintin's lovely voice. although personally, i have a feeling that he's actually very bad at it. yes. i don't know. whatever.


End file.
